


Desire

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin is a mess, Angst, Control, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Drugs, Force Bond, Graphic Sex, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Obi-Wan's not as in control as he thinks he is, POV Anakin Skywalker, Pining, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sheev was behind it all, everyone can see it, nothing is explained, oblivious Anakin, sex fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 13:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18053237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: Anakin Skywalker decides to take his investigation of an illegal smuggling ring in entirely the wrong direction when he finds a substance called "Desire"…and Obi-Wan cleans up his mess, as usual.





	Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Sex fantasies, slight D/s undertones, illegal substances, and a blatant re-imagining of Tepre’s “Trouble, My Old Friend” Harry/Draco fanfiction as Anakin/Obi-Wan. Alternate Universe. What changed will eventually become clear. Anakin makes better life choices. Does he really, though?

*

 

It all began with a simple advertisement.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and Republic General, wasn’t even supposed to be in Coruscant’s lower levels that day. It was his day off. But duty had called – or rather the Council had – and there he was, looking for evidence of an illegal weapons-smuggling ring on Level 237.

And there it was. The flyer. Cheap flimsiplast attached to a filthy, stained wall of the building nearest him and flashing in ugly, alternating neon lights of pink and orange.

 _Desire._ In big, bold letters in both Basic and Twi’leki. There was a picture of a busty, scantily-clad Gatalentan woman, distinguished by her turquoise-colored hair and the traditional red cloak which was _all_ she was wearing. And underneath was a picture of a small glass bottle filled with a neon-pink liquid. If that was its actual color or if they’d just decided to match the rest of the advertisement, Anakin couldn’t tell. Underneath that, in slightly smaller letters, he read:

_Experience your deepest desires. Unlock your subconscious and let your imagination run free._

There was no address at which to purchase the substance that he could see.

The dingy alleyway he was stood in was completely empty. It was also dirty, covered in graffiti, filled with refuse and a steady rain was dripping down from Coruscant’s artificial sky, thousands of levels above. Everything was dark in Coruscant’s lower levels. In the Jedi Temple it was speculated that people were born, lived and died down here without ever seeing the sun. Or the stars. The Jedi had been trying to improve the lower levels for as long as Master Yoda had been in the Order, perhaps longer, but nothing seemed to change.

Neon lights, rampant crime, darkness, poverty and filth – that had always been Anakin’s impression of the lower levels, even though the last time he’d been here, he had been thirteen. He looked at the sign again, the cold, damp rain dripping down the back of his hair, under the collar of his Jedi robes and down his back. Just outside the alley, the sounds of a minor scuffle broke out. A blaster fired and then all was silent once more.

Except for the drip-drip of the rain.

Anakin’s comlink pinged and he jumped, raised it to his lips, said: “Skywalker.”

“How’s it hanging, kid,” came the inordinately cheerful, booming voice of Jedi Master Quinlan Vos, the Order’s best undercover operative.

Anakin winced and hurriedly lowered the volume on his comlink. He had no wish to advertise his position to the neighbors just now. “It’s fine,” he said tightly. “I haven’t found anything yet.”

“Well, I may have,” Vos said, sounding far too pleased with himself for Anakin’s limited amount of patience. He was cold, wet and tired, and even on his best days, he was only able to tolerate Quinlan Vos for extremely short intervals. He’d once complained to Obi-Wan that Quinlan Vos was an…arse. To use a phrase his Master wouldn’t lecture him for.

Obi-Wan had merely arched an eyebrow and studied Anakin with that sharp blue-grey gaze of his. “Are you perhaps referring to the fact that he is arrogant, unprincipled and irreverent? And a reckless hot-head?” he’d questioned mildly.

Anakin scowled. He wouldn’t put it quite like that but, “Yeah.”

And Obi-Wan had gone off in gales of laughter, almost crying in mirth, while Anakin stood there, uncomfortable, red-faced, unable to comprehend the joke but sure it was on him. Most days he always felt five steps behind his Master anyway.

Master, never former Master. Obi-Wan deserved that respect from him, even if he was an…arse.

Now he scowled at the memory. He hated it when Obi-Wan laughed at him. “I’ll meet you back home in fifteen,” he said to Vos, referring not to the Jedi Temple but the squalid apartment they had rented for this mission, and cut the communication.

The next moment the dingy alley was empty. Completely empty this time, for the sign advertising _Desire_ was gone as well.

Later, much later.

After Anakin and Vos had met to discuss next steps, after Anakin had sent an encrypted message to the Temple, to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, explaining that he’d be away on a mission for several days – and wasn’t that just typical, on his day _off_ –, after Anakin spent several fruitless hours following a potential lead, he returned to the dingy apartment to discover Vos gone and a cryptic message stating he’d gone undercover and to wait for him.

Anakin, in no mood for cryptic messages from Quinlan Vos, had crumpled the flimsiplast with the Force. And then burned it.

Obi-Wan’s reply put him in an even fouler mood. _I know you and Quin don’t always see eye to eye_ – and Anakin could almost hear his Master’s dry tone through the words scrolling across his datapad – _but do try and remember that you are a Jedi, Anakin._

He’d gone out and bought the strongest Corellian brandy he could find then. _Who even calls that arrogant asshole ‘Quin,’ anyway?_

A Jedi’s tolerance for alcohol was much greater than most other species in the galaxy and it took a while, but Anakin was determined. It was only when he mind was pleasantly buzzed, the steady rain on the dirty, grey transparisteel window distant background noise, that he took out the advertisement for _Desire_ again.

He studied the flimsiplast in the dim, flickering light of the one glow lamp this hovel boasted. It still flickered between neon-pink and neon-orange every couple seconds, and which clashed horribly with the threadbare, puce-colored chair and mauve-colored bed that inhabited this shithole.

Anakin glared at the advertisement, prodding it with one finger, to no avail. He carefully examined it from corner to corner, held it up to the minimal light from the flickering neon lights outside and even looked at it under UV, but whatever the location was where they were selling this ‘Desire’ wasn’t revealed.

So he downed another glass of the Corellian brandy – it tasted foul but was as a strong as a Delta’s engine fluid – and thought.

It wasn’t that he’d never felt sexual attraction towards anyone before. There had been that Twi’lek dancer he’d kissed in a bar on Ord Mantell once – graceful, flirtatious, and that mocking smile he could feel even as they kissed. And a prostitute who had reached out and pulled Anakin in to a secluded alcove on Lothal, pressed their bodies flush together until Anakin could feel the other man’s erection through the fabric of their clothes, and whispered forbidden things in his ear. All Anakin could remember was the man’s accent, posh, inner Core, and the feel of the man’s flushed cock, hard and hot against this own…

And he’d always thought Padmé Amidala, the former queen of Naboo, was beautiful.

He’d even had one or two wet dreams of her when he’d first hit puberty. Or he thought he had, anyway. The dreams had been indistinct, blurry, although he remembered thinking of the queen before he fell asleep. The Chancellor had been talking about her around then, he remembered.

That had been before he told Obi-Wan exactly what he and the Chancellor talked about in their private meetings. And where it was the Chancellor was taking him. 

He would never forget Obi-Wan’s frown, the narrowing of his bright eyes and the sudden, sharp surge of fury and… _fear_ that had burned through their bond for a white-hot instant before Obi-Wan got himself back under control. Anakin, who had never even seen his Master lose control before, had been wide-eyed and silent, unable to look away from those parted lips, the heaving chest.

He reached out a hand, not knowing what he wanted to do, but Obi-Wan moved impossibly fast and grabbed it before Anakin could reach him. His calloused hand was strong around Anakin’s own. His Master gently released him. 

_Politicians are not to be trust, Anakin. One day you’ll see that for yourself._

They’d left Coruscant for an extended mission to the Outer Rim not long after.

Anakin’s head dropped to his chest, the empty tumbler falling from suddenly lax fingers to smash on the ground in a shatter of glass. 

The sound startled him back awake with a curse. With a groan he sat up, his back protesting at the slump he’d fallen into. Digging the heel of his hand into his eyes, he glanced down at his wrist Chrono. 0300. Great. The rain still pattered against the window and somewhere above his head there was a rhythmic thumping sound, a bed hitting the wall, a muted chorus of groans.

Anakin glared up at the ceiling and thought about shoving his lightsaber there the floor above, scaring whoever was in the room, possibly for life. 

It wasn’t that he’d never felt sexual attraction, it was just that it had never been enough to make him want to do anything about it. He wanked in the ‘fresher sometimes, but even then, he never brought any particular face to mind.

He kept his mental landscape completely blank, eyes closed, only the feel of hot water sluicing off his body and down his back as he worked his hand roughly over his cock. There was only the sound of water, his own labored breathing, and Obi-Wan puttering about in their shared kitchen. If he caught Anakin doing this, he would – 

And that thought was enough to send him over the edge.

Sometimes Anakin thought it was the danger, the thrill of discovery, that allowed arousal to steal through him in those moments. Not that he was willing to test that theory out by having a wank outside the Council chambers. He could just imagine Mace Windu’s face if he caught Anakin doing _that_.

With a shudder, Anakin bent over and picked up the flimsiplast. Mostly, what he thought, was that he just hadn’t met the right person. Or that he actually was as celibate and monk-like as Obi-Wan. If his Master had ever had a sexual thought in his life, Anakin would eat his own boot. He glanced down at the flimsiplast and gave a start. 

There, in the bottom right hand corner, scrawled nearly illegible Basic. _Level 45, Block 7,431, Area 4B. Prices will be negotiated._

*

Level 45 was far below anywhere Anakin had ever been. In fact, if pressed, he would admit that he’d thought the levels this far down had been deserted centuries ago. The weight of the city above had long ago turned these levels uninhabitable. 

Anakin eventually found the correct building. This level was eerily quiet, the buildings almost entirely rundown and deserted, the lamplight only sporadic, flickering or entirely absent. The air was foul and the only sounds were Anakin’s boots, the drip-drip of moisture off the buildings and the skittering of gigantic – probably feral – rodents and other vermin that moved in the darkness at the edge of Anakin’s vision.

He went up a flight of dark, musty steps littered with refuse and came out onto –

– a pristine, well-lit landing where a bored receptionist barely gave him a second look, lightsaber and all, as she told him to see the Rodian down the hall.

Anakin could tell from the quality of the bottle that this stuff, whatever it was, wasn’t made here. “Why aren’t you selling this further up?” he demanded suspiciously. The Rodian had a shifty look to him, but his clothes were neat, clean and, if Anakin was any judge and he usually wasn’t, in vogue.

“Extremely illegal ingredient in it,” the Rodian said, eyes darting from the door to Anakin’s face. “Powerful hallucinogenic. Works even on…Jedi.” Now his eyes darted to Anakin’s lightsaber, poorly hidden under his robe. “And reduces inhibitions.”

“That’s all it does?”

The Rodian looked like he would rather be anywhere else, though to be fair, so would Anakin. “Ansion seeds and moonglow root from Camaas. Blend of my own invention. Taps into your subconscious.” For a brief moment, the Rodian’s eyes took on a cunning, speculative gleam as he studied Anakin. “And what is it, exactly, that _you_ desire, Master Jedi?” He licked his lips, ventured further in spite of Anakin’s forbidding expression. “Nothing is forbidden in your own mind.”

The sly insinuation burned in Anakin and he could feel his face flame. He dropped a hand down to his lightsaber. “I am here on official business,” he emphasised, watching the Rodian shrink back. He threw a handful of credits onto the other’s pristine desk, grabbed the vial of neon-pink liquid and stalked out, ignoring the shout behind him.

“We don’t take Republic credits down here!”

*

When he returned to the dingy apartment it was still barely 0600 and the sky was pitch dark. It felt strange to him to not see the rays of sunshine slowly inching across the horizon. That was how he always thought of Coruscant – whenever he and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were off-planet with the Open Circle fleet, or during the decade he and Obi-Wan went from mission to mission in the Outer Rim and Wild Space – sunshine, creeping across his and Obi-Wan’s chambers. Perking up the plants Obi-Wan always insisted on keeping in memory of Qui-Gon. Bathing his Master in a warm, golden glow as he meditated on the raised, circular mat in the center of the room.

Obi-Wan’s concentration rarely broke, no matter how annoying Anakin made himself. 

He should call his master now. Inform him of this mysterious, illegal new hallucinogenic making the rounds of Coruscant’s underworld.

Instead, he popped the cork, tilted his head back and took a generous swig of the pink substance.

It was sweet, almost cloying, and hit him almost instantly. He felt his body relaxing, going limp, and was grateful he’d sat in the chair before taking the drug. His last conscious thought was the utter certainty that Obi-Wan would most certainly not approve.

It took him awhile to realize everything was blurry. His body felt heavy, as though he was underwater and memories floated past, indistinct and incomplete. 

There was Obi-Wan, Force-jumping an impossible distance above the clouds. 

 _That’s my master. There’s no one better._  

Anakin starting a fight with one of the other Padawans, feeling Obi-Wan’s attention snap back to him instantly from where he’d been immersed in a conversation with Master Tachi.

Those blue-grey eyes focused solely on Anakin, hot and angry, his familiar, elegant accent washing over Anakin as he berated the boy later in their rooms. 

Anakin could feel his face flame at his Master’s disappointment, but his stomach jumped, unsettled, heat running up his spine as Obi-Wan finally lost his temper.

_I should tie your hands behind your back. Maybe then you’ll stop using them to start fights!_

And.

 _In some cultures, Anakin,_ Obi-Wan continued, warming up to his theme, while his eyes looked suddenly dark and tired, _they take misbehaving children over their knees and spank them. Be grateful the Jedi don’t do that._

He sighed, running a hand through his beard, shoulders slumping. _You’re confined to quarters tonight. The Council will decide your punishment. Now go clean up._  

He’d left then, the door hissing shut behind him, and Anakin had stumbled into the ‘fresher, sweaty from the fight…and harder than he’d ever been in his life. As the hot water poured over him, he couldn’t seem to help himself, fingers skating down his stomach to wonderingly touch his ruddy, erect cock.

At the light, questioning brush of fingers, arousal rolled through him, heady and overwhelming, his legs trembling.

Leaning heavily against the wall of the ‘fresher, panting, Anakin hid his face in the crook of his arm, his prick enclosed tightly in his fist as he thrust. First slow, then fast, hips losing their rhythm as Obi-Wan’s words whispered through his mind.

_…hands behind your back_

_…take you over my knee and spank you_

He came hard all over his hand, legs unable to hold him even as the water washed all the evidence away.

The dream, the vision, the hallucination, paused, stopped – rewound.

Anakin brushed hesitant fingers over his flushed prick, feeling it twitch, arousal rolling through him again, stronger than he’d ever felt it before.

He went to wrap it in his fist, bring himself off like before when his hand was pulled away, pushed up over his head, and a hard, naked body pressed along his back as he was shoved gently against the wall, head resting on cool tile once more. Obi-Wan’s beard brushed the back of his neck, lips against the shell of Anakin’s ear and voice, hoarse and vibrating through the boy’s body.

_What have I told you about using your hands._

His other arm, strong as iron, wrapped around Anakin’s stomach, pulled him back against Obi-Wan’s naked body, firm with muscle. His Master’s body was as hot as a furnace, the curve of his prick lying against the swell of Anakin’s buttocks. 

Obi-Wan’s breathing was labored but he slowly, deliberately twisted his hips, tantalisingly brushing his hard cock between Anakin’s buttocks, thrusting slowly upwards to skate over his puckered entrance. 

Anakin moaned, hips thrusting back against the teasing hardness, but it was gone again almost at once, Obi-Wan’s small chuckle a warm breath of air against his neck.

Anakin was panting, free hand working its way down his own body, desperate to touch his now-weeping erection. All his blood had rushed south, and he was dizzy with want, with need. 

Obi-Wan growled against his neck, hips slowly thrusting forward again, distracting Anakin entirely. _What have I told you about touching, Anakin,_ he warned again in that voice of his that Anakin loved. _You can only touch yourself when I say so._  

Anakin’s body shook, a parted gasp escaping from between clenched teeth as his head fell back against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and his cock ejected a thin stream of pre-cum. 

“Obi-Wan!” he begged, beyond any semblance of shame as his master began to drive his hips forward, rutting against him so slowly, so in control that Anakin couldn’t stand it – his own hips shakily attempting to thrust back, to get Obi-Wan to go harder, faster, deeper –

He could feel his climax building, could feel Obi-Wan surrounding him everywhere. He knew he was babbling something humiliating, moaning “Master” and “please” and “oh Force, that feels so good.” He didn’t care.

“Please, Obi-Wan,” he cried, knowing his orgasm was going to be more intense than any he’d had before, knowing that he was so close, too close. If Obi-Wan pulled away from him now –

 _That’s a good boy,_ Obi-Wan murmured, his own breathing wrecked, his thrusts beginning to go slightly uneven as he neared his own climax. _Come for me now, Anakin. Can you come for me without being touched?_ He panted, grinding forward again, hard and perfect, and Anakin felt pleasure role through him, almost overwhelming. _You’re so close. Come –_  

He thrust again, probably harder than he meant to for the head of his cock just breached Anakin’s hole as he shoved back onto his Master’s prick. 

With a sharp cry of relief, Anakin came.

*

His eyes opened. He was still slumped in the chair in that dingy apartment, his breathing labored and the front of his pants damp where he’d come.

He shifted and realised he was still hard. “What the hell?” he moaned, shifting again, trying to sit up, sending a wave of aftershocks and new arousal through him as his flushed cock brushed against the leather of his trousers.

He gave up moving when his muscles wouldn’t obey him, slumping down again, one hand going beneath the waistband of his pants to wrap around his slowly thickening prick. It was slick from when he’d come already. He pulled on it shakily, thumbing the slit, circling the head, cupping his balls…trying not to remember the fell of Obi-Wan – _Obi-Wan_ – thrusting hard and perfect against him.

He’d never thought of his Master that way.

_The stutter of his hips as he started to lose that perfect control of his just from Anakin’s ass._

He swirled a finger around the head of his prick again, smearing the drop of pre-cum beading at the tip, hips rising heavily as he thrust into his fist. The room was loud with his breathing.

He hated Obi-Wan’s constant lecturing, his criticism, that voice of his always berating Anakin…

His hand sped up, his vision going fuzzy.

Oh Force, please, he was close.

He was not attracted to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He liked girls. That male prostitute had been a one-time thing –

_Come for me now, Anakin._

With a helpless whimper, Anakin came.

*

He took a shower after that, standing under ice-cold water and refusing to touch himself. Glancing down he saw he was still slightly erect, ruddy from where he’d wanked himself. He turned the water off, watching beads of water droplets drip from his hair and listening to them splash on the ground, watching his body as though it was something new and strange.

He had spent his entire adolescence with next to nothing in the way of sexual desire. He’d known it was something he should be thinking about, feeling, he just…hadn’t. Now though, all at once, it was like he couldn’t stop the desire. His body was wanting, craving, the touch of another for what felt like the first time and it felt…it felt good.

He wondered, abstractedly, if Obi-Wan thought he was attractive.

He thought about throwing the rest of the hallucinogenic down the drain in the kitchen area. Instead, still naked, he padded across the flat, grabbed the bottle of _Desire_ , and dragged himself onto the bed. Tilting his head back, he took another sip.

Obi-Wan was above him on their bed, a wicked smile on his lips and a lock of auburn hair falling across his eyes. Anakin longed to reach out and brush it back from his Master’s face, but Obi-Wan had forbidden him from touching _anything._  

Anakin was completely naked, splayed out for his Master’s pleasure as Obi-Wan slowly kissed and nibbled his way down Anakin’s chest, licking and even biting Anakin’s hip, driving the other man to distraction, little whimpers escaping from him, before he finally, _finally_ , wrapped those perfect lips around Anakin’s cock.

“Ahh,” he cried, hips thrusting up of their own accord as wetness and warmth encased him. Obi-Wan hmm’d around Anakin’s prick, sending vibration up that throbbing member so sharply that Anakin almost came right there and then.

He wanted to reach down and wrap his hands in Obi-Wan’s hair, thrust deep into his Master’s mouth, fuck that perfect, sarcastic mouth until he came…. but his Master had forbidden him from touching.

 _Can you keep still for me, Anakin?_ he sent now through their open bond in the Force.

Anakin’s hands, real and metal, bunched the bed sheets but with a supreme act of will he lowered his hips again, trembling, shaking, his heart pounding and desire making his head spin. All he could focus on was the wet heat of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the hollowing of his lips as he sucked, the roughness of his tongue as he laved the slit of Anakin’s cock, popping off with an obscene noise that had Anakin shuddering as he desperately restrained himself from moving.

Obi-Wan’s soft, copper-colored hair brushed the heated flesh of Anakin’s prick as he pulled back, glanced down. 

 _Force, look at you,_ he said, amusement ghosting through his words. _How you want it._

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered, pleading, even as he flushed in embarrassment.

 _Touch yourself,_ his Master commanded. _I think you’ve earned it._

Anakin grasped the base of his cock, thick and hot in his hand, slick with Obi-Wan’s spit. He glanced down, met Obi-Wan’s blue-grey eyes focused solely on him, only him.

Obi-Wan licked his lips, eyes never moving from Anakin’s hand wrapped around his own cock. _Good boy,_ his Master whispered approvingly, hungrily watching Anakin’s movements as he reached down to grip his own hard cock. Anakin could see it tenting Obi-Wan’s trousers, could see his Master’s lips part in a silent sigh as he wrapped those long, elegant fingers around it and started stroking it in time to Anakin’s own rhythm.

It was obscene that Obi-Wan was fully-clothed, bringing himself off through his own trousers as Anakin touched himself. _Anakin,_ Obi-Wan moaned and Anakin was lost.

When he returned to consciousness, he’d come all over himself again and still had one hand wrapped around his sensitive, half-hard cock. He rolled over and buried his face in the musty bedspread, feeling drained and keyed up all at once. “Sithspit,” he muttered to himself, and then proceeded to drink from the bottle three more times, one right after the other.

He watched himself down on his knees, hands fisted in his Jedi robes, the sounds of the _Resolute_ ’s sublight engines a hum in the background, as he sucked Obi-Wan off in a supply closet. He’d been instructed to not touch, not Obi-Wan, not himself.

 _Quiet, Anakin_ , Obi-Wan murmured, as a contingent of Clone troopers marched by outside and he thrust shallowly into Anakin’s mouth.

He watched Obi-Wan push his knee between Anakin’s thighs under the high table at a fancy dinner somewhere. Politicians surrounded them but their faces were indistinct. The world was glittering, unreal., sparkling like diamonds in a sea of darkness from the chandelier overhead. They might have been on Alderaan or Takodana for all Anakin cared. All that mattered was Obi-Wan’s knee, brushing teasingly against Anakin’s groin – the fact that for all Obi-Wan smiled and flirted with the politicians, his entire attention was actually on Anakin, Anakin, _Anakin_ … 

Anakin could feel his half-hard prick twitch and thicken with interest, start to harden further as Obi-Wan licked wine off his lips, gave Anakin a hooded glance under thick lashes. His blue-grey eyes gleamed in the low lightning.

The voices of the others were muted in conversation and Anakin tried to keep his gaze down on his plate, hips shifting to try and rub against Obi-Wan’s thigh.

 _Ride it,_ Obi-Wan told him through their bond, and Anakin could feel his excitement in the Force.

Anakin felt shame again, but stronger than that was the rush of desire.

 _That’s right,_ he said, every time Anakin rolled his hips forward. The pleasure built so slowly, Anakin trying to remain discrete, biting his lip hard to keep from making any sound, aware his face was flushed and red, that he was almost ready to jump out of his own skin by the time he could feel his climax coming. Obi-Wan’s voice coaxed him through it the entire time. _Almost there. Keep your hands up. Almost –_

They ended up in one of the palace’s fancy restrooms, Anakin shamelessly riding Obi-Wan’s leg, arms braced on the rough plaster above Obi-Wan’s head, until he messily came, falling boneless into his Master’s arms as Obi-Wan laughed delightedly.

Anakin woke to a pounding on the door, outraged voices, but all he could hear was Obi-Wan’s voice, ravaged with desire, the cut-off moan he’d given as he felt Anakin come through their bond, and he quickly downed another sip of the pink torture.

He watched himself approach Obi-Wan in the Council chambers. His master sat alone, sprawled in the seat assigned to him, evening sunlight glinting off his hair, turning it red and gold. He looked like a god. There was a teasing half-smile on his lips; one he only ever gave to Anakin.

_Come here so I can fuck you._

He watched himself drop his robe, his lightsaber, his tunic, then his trousers, climb into Obi-Wan’s lap and get fucked, ever so slowly, his back arching, head tipped back, body straining as he rocked himself on his master’s cock, only balanced due to Obi-Wan’s arm tight around his hips.

 _Hands on the chair,_ Obi-Wan told him, using a fist in Anakin’s shirt to drive him down harder, pump up harder. _Beautiful_ , Obi-Wan told him.

He took another shower after that.

*

“You look like shit,” Vos said two days later, when he finally returned. Anakin, who had spent the entire time either drifting in and out of dreams or wanking himself raw, laughed hysterically and couldn’t stop until Vos started eyeing him with concern.

He had finished the bottle in the middle of the night, spent and frazzled and over-sensitized, amazed that management hadn’t thrown him out, even in a place like this. He spent interminable moments staring at the ceiling, relieved that the bottle was done, mind alternating between that one fact and the pleasant, post-orgasmic haze he’d fallen into. He was done. It was finally over. He’d had fun and it was done now.

He was still hard at the memory of his last fantasy, shame moving through him red-hot and uncomfortable as he glanced down at his prick; puffy and red, twitching between his legs. 

He was done, he told himself firmly, even as his cock ached and he wondered what Obi-Wan would do if he found Anakin like this.

 _Look at you,_ the memory of Obi-Wan said. _Come here so I can fuck you_ , and he wrapped a tight fist around himself, feeling his prick throb with every thrust of his hips. It took an embarrassingly short time to bring himself to a painful and quick climax, sobbing with relief when he finally came and finally falling into an exhausted slumber.

And now here was Vos. Anakin couldn’t deal with him at the moment.

“Well, we’ve got a lead,” Vos said. “Our work here is done.”

“Yeah, Good” Anakin said doubtfully, following him back to the Temple in a daze, forgetting that he’d have to face Obi-Wan – the real Obi-Wan – when he did.

 *

Once, when Anakin was fifteen, he’d accidentally broken Obi-Wan’s small, glass figurine of a blue-colored dancer. He’d forgotten all about it, forgotten that he’d have to face Obi-Wan afterwards, until he’d returned from the local school he was enrolled in on Lothal and came face to face with his Master’s devastated face as he held the broken pieces in his hands.

Although Obi-Wan’s face was quickly schooled back to serenity, Anakin never forgot the profound look of loss he had glimpsed in that brief moment. Obi-Wan felt; he felt deeply. He might bury it under layers of Jedi control and serenity, but he felt more than anyone Anakin had ever met.

Anakin wondered who had given that figurine to his Master, for he had obviously felt incredibly strongly for that person.

He wondered if his Master had ever felt towards him the way the Obi-Wan in Anakin’s visions did –

Anakin trailed Vos all the into the Council Chamber, took one look at his Master, sprawled across his appointed chair, one eyebrow raised as he took in Anakin’s no-doubt disastrous appearance, and almost walked right back out again.

His heart was pounding, he felt vaguely sick and, for the life of him, he couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. His mind kept reverting to –

Vos made a report, but Anakin barely heard it.

“Anything to say, have you, young Skywalker?” venerable Grand Master Yoda asked at the end tapping his gimmer stick on the floor.

Anakin shook his head, throat dry.

“Well that’s certainly a first,” Obi-Wan said, tone so dry, so gently teasing as he attempted to meet Anakin’s eyes, that the young Jedi Knight could feel his face flush, eyes unable to look away from Obi-Wan’s thighs, splayed wantonly. Invitingly.

Thought about crawling between them, right onto Obi-Wan’s lap and begging his Master to fuck him senseless.

Wondered what Obi-Wan would do.

Jerked his mind back to the present and his eyes up towards Obi-Wan’s face only to fall into that piercing blue-grey gaze, boring into Anakin’s own. Was that a hint of concern he saw there? Surprise?

“It’s unlike you to have nothing to say, Skywalker,” Master Windu said now, being a dick as usual.

Anakin couldn’t look away from Obi-Wan, stiff and uptight, the perfect Jedi. He had been balls-deep in Anakin just a few hours ago, driving into him… He tried to control his mind, his body, but he could feel himself flush, the beginnings of arousal stirring in him. He shifted, trying to hide his sudden discomfort, breaking his locked gaze with his former master.

“It’s been awhile since Jedi Skywalker was back on Coruscant, or down in the lower levels,” Master Depa Billaba said, soothing tensions with an expert touch. “I’m sure he just needs some time to gather his thoughts.”

There were some disgruntled murmurs at this. 

“Perhaps a report, once the facts are known,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said.

Windu frowned at them both, Vos and Anakin, two delinquents in the Council’s eyes. Why Obi-Wan was friends with the two of them no one in the Order, least of all Anakin, could quite figure out. “Dismissed,” the stern Jedi Master said, and Anakin stumbled from the room and Obi-Wan’s all-knowing eyes with relief.

All he had to do was find Ahsoka. She’d make him feel normal again.

*

He managed to avoid Obi-Wan until he turned in for the night. He worked himself and Ahsoka so hard that he was stumbling with exhaustion when he returned to his room for the night, and he looked forward to a sleep without dreams.

The door hissed shut behind him, plunging him in darkness save for a faint, golden glow coming from Coruscant’s lines of traffic high above them. The room was empty and silent. Of course it was. He and Obi-Wan hadn’t shared quarters since they’d returned to Coruscant when Anakin was nineteen years old. After he’d lost his mom on Tatooine and he and Obi-Wan had been too late to save he. After Geonosis and the start of the Clone Wars.

After Anakin had become a Jedi Knight.

It was all head had ever wanted and now here he was – a General in the Grand Army of the Republic. Ahsoka’s Master. Obi-Wan’s most trusted friend.

A Jedi Knight would not be lusting after his own Master; a man who had raised him, loved him as a brother, and was, by all accounts – and Anakin would know because he’d met Satine Kryze, who adored his Master – unattainable.

With a sigh he stripped out of his tabard and tunic and threw them on his unmade bed.

There was a knock on the door.

Without turning, Anakin waved a hand, releasing the lock and the door slid open. It was probably Ahsoka, returning his lightsaber, which he’d left in the training rooms and forgotten about again.

It was Obi-Wan.

His Master entered the room, frowned at the lack of light and waved a hand, turning on the Naboo lamp Anakin had placed in one corner of the room. He was holding Anakin’s lightsaber and he took in Anakin’s naked chest with a familiar, raised eyebrow.

Anakin felt himself flush, aware of his own lack of clothing for the first time ever in the other man’s presence, as those bright eyes swept over him head to toe. Was it his imagination or did they linger on the muscles in his arms, his stomach, sweep lower and pause over the small patch of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers?

Anakin stumbled back as Obi-Wan advanced, back hitting the edge of his worktable under the window, hands going up onto it to keep from falling over. The blinds were still open and all of Coruscant could see them.

Obi-Wan smelled clean and warm, like the Temple’s laundry detergent and late afternoon sunshine. There was a faint, spicy aroma to him as well; his favorite brand of tea. 

His hair lay perfect upon his head, that auburn beard untangled and gleaming. His eyes roamed over Anakin’s face and the other man could feel the flush spread up his chest and take over his face. He was hot all over and Obi-Wan was so close.

He was always close to Anakin. He’d never noticed it before. He wanted him closer.  

Anakin couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from dropping and staring at Obi-Wan’s lips. His cock was flushed, tenting his pants and oh, Force, he hoped Obi-Wan didn’t look down. It was clearly visible without his tabard to hide behind.

And Obi-Wan was so close. Too close.

Anakin’s hands, metal and real, clenched around the edge of the table behind him, as he tried to prevent himself from reaching out and pulling his Master closer.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, his elegant voice washing over Anakin and resulting in a new wave of desire.

Anakin shivered, his prick twitching, hardening even further. A memory, something from the past two days, swept through him inexorably. _Hands on the table. Turn around so I can fuck you, dear one._

“I’m fine,” he croaked, trying to edge away from Obi-Wan, bring space between them. Shame burned through him at how quickly he was aroused but something so ordinary as Obi-Wan’s presence; at his own lack of control. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve this from him.

  
But even as he tried to sidle out, Obi-Wan moved forward, their bodies almost touching, Anakin’s erect cock brushing against Obi-Wan’s robes, the warmth of his groin, through layers of fabric. It was only the barest of touches, fabric scraping the head of his erection, and yet Anakin was so turned on already, so hyperaware of every sensation, his body aching for something, anything, that he couldn’t prevent the tiny moan that slipped out of him.

Obi-Wan’s hand reached out, pressed against his forehead as Anakin shivered. “You’re flushed and glassy-eyed,” his Master said in concern, calloused fingers brushing aside Anakin’s hair. “Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?” A pause. “And you lost your lightsaber, again.” Wry humor mixed with worry.

Anakin shook his head, eyes closing in shame and resignation. There was no way he was getting out of this. He was turned on just from Obi-Wan’s nearness, his body still too attuned to…whatever must still be in his system.

Obi-Wan stepped closer again, seeming to want to peer into Anakin’s eyes to ascertain if he had a fever. Their bodies were all-but pressed together now, groin to groin, and Anakin was so hard his head was spinning. Dropping a head onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he grabbed the other man’s hand and pulled it down between their bodies, pressing the palm flat and hard against his throbbing erection.

“Please, Master,” he begged, voice broken, hips shifting up to rub his aching cock against Obi-Wan’s hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” And, “please.”

Obi-Wan pulled his hand away even as Anakin’s hips continued their forward motion, ground against Obi-Wan’s hip, his groin. Obi-Wan gasped, jerked back, away from Anakin.

Legs turned to jelly, Anakin sunk to his knees, leaning forward, face pressed against Obi-Wan’s hip even as his hand dove beneath his own pants and he began to frantically drag on his prick. So close.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice was sharp, breathless. “Stop that at once!” Anakin moaned at his tone, feeling it burn through him in another wave of want, but his fingers stilled. “You’re hurting yourself,” Obi-Wan said, in a slightly calmer tone, reaching down to grip Anakin by the shoulders and pull him back up onto his feet.

Anakin’s hand was stilled wrapped tightly around his prick beneath his pants. He felt Obi-Wan glance at it, saw the faint blush that turned the man’s cheeks pink, and couldn’t stop himself from slowly wanking along his length, feeling shivers run down his spine, desire pool low in his belly

Force, this was a million times more intense with Obi-Wan actually here.

“Stop that,” Obi-Wan said again, a habit, lips frowning in concentration. “What did you take down there?”

Anakin tried to avoid his gaze, burying his head in his Master’s shoulder again, feeling the other man’s rabid pulse.

“What did you take?!” Obi-Wan demanded again, a tone of command entering his voice.

Anakin shivered, stroking his own cock again. He was so close, he was right there. Just a little bit more. “Please, Master,” he begged, his voice a hoarse ruin. “I need….” He trailed off, stroking himself again, other hand clenched in Obi-Wan’s robes. 

There was a long pause from his Master and Anakin could feel the always-turning wheels of his mind weighing options. He pressed himself full again the other man again, hazily thinking that perhaps that would be the selling point. Anakin, himself.

He felt the moment Obi-Wan gave in, like a sudden release of tension on a taut wire. “I know what you need,” his Master murmured, turning to brush lips over the shell of Anakin’s ear. 

He walked Anakin back to the bed, pushing him gently down upon it and climbing up over him. 

Anakin’s eyes were wide, his heart in his throat, useless words on his lips, but Obi-Wan didn’t give him a chance to utter any of them. “Hands above your head,” Obi-Wan whispered against Anakin’s skin. Anakin stretched up, releasing his cock, feeling Obi-Wan’s gaze fall down to him as he arched his back, bared every inch of his chest and stomach for his master’s perusal. 

Obi-Wan tugged Anakin’s pants. “Hips up,” he commanded, and Anakin did so, watching his ruddy erection spring free as Obi-Wan tugged his pants down to his knees. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze was hungry as he stared at it, at Anakin. It was leaking already, and Anakin knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Master,” he whispered, and Obi-Wan’s gaze, pupils blown wide, snapped to his. His master crawled up over him again, one hand going to hold Anakin’s wrists above his head, the other wrapping around Anakin’s prick, using the pre-cum as lubrication.

He began stroking, hard, slow, perfect, his voice a litany in Anakin’s head. “Come for me, Anakin. You’re almost there.”

The only sounds in the room were Anakin’s panting breaths, Obi-Wan’s murmured words and the filthy, slick sound of Obi-Wan’s hand on Anakin’s cock. Obi-Wan’s voice in Anakin’s head, echoing through their bond. _Let go, dear one_  

And Anakin did.

* 

He awoke to a rainy, dark day.

Obi-Wan was gone.

He was clothed, lying on top of his bed, and he would have thought everything a vivid dream except for the loose feeling in his limbs and the fact that he was clean.

Obi-Wan had bathed him up afterwards. He could vaguely remember it; the man’s shame burning in the Force between them even as he wiped a warm, wet cloth over Anakin’s groin, washing his former Padawan clean.

He groaned, just the thought of having to face Obi-Wan again to embarrassing to contemplate. He remembered clearly how he’d lost any semblance of control yesterday, practically molesting the other man.

It was like that stupid Desire substance had taken over his entire body, made him unable to control himself at all. It wasn’t like he was the pinnacle of control at the best of times!

There was a note written on Anakin’s datapad next to his bed.

_Anakin, I was called away for a Council Meeting. We will talk when I get back._

Anakin felt panic race through him, knew with utter certainty that he’d never be able to survive an encounter like that.

He rolled out of bed, hurriedly pulling on a clean tunic and tabard that Obi-Wan must have left out for him, grabbed his lightsaber, and headed for the door. 

Ahsoka was stationed outside it. She was seated cross-legged in the middle of the hallway, meditating. Several blocks used to aid concentration and control floated in the air around her. Rain sounded on the windows at the end of the hallway, pattering in a soothing tempo.

“Hello, Master,” she said, without opening her eyes.

Anakin paused a moment, slightly alarmed. Her tone sounded exactly like Obi-Wan’s. Disapproving. 

“Yes?” he hedged, wondering if he had the energy to outrun her.

“Master Obi-Wan said you should remain in bed today. You’re not feeling well.” She opened her eyes to fix him with a stern look, one she must have pick up from Luminara, who was a master at giving them to Anakin, and the floating cubes gently returned to her hand.

She’d obviously been practicing. 

“I’m not going to leave the Temple,” Anakin told her, lying without compunction. How much did she know? What had Obi-Wan told her?

“I know everything,” Ahsoka told him, firmly, instantly; confirming that Anakin’s shields were shit and that, hopefully, Obi-Wan had only told her Anakin should be confined to quarters.

“Well, my young Padawan,” Anakin said grandly, sweeping an arm out, calculating distances. “If you knew everything, you’d know that there’s something I have to do. It’s of vital importance.”

“Uh huh,” Ahsoka returned, the ennui of all teenagers filling her voice. “And what’s that?” She was clearly unimpressed. 

Anakin saw no use for it. He ran.

He made it to the Rodian’s skivvy establishment in record time, not realizing until he was stood before the man, that he’d forgotten to bring any money with him. “I just need one more,” he shouted, voice echoing off the walls around him, shaking them.

No, not his voice. That was the Force. Anakin’s control was so thin that the Force was slipping away from him, out of his grasp.

“No money, no drugs” the Rodian said firmly, even as he eyed the trembling walls warily.

“It’s not a drug!” Anakin shouted. “It’s just a – just a…substance.”

The Rodian gave him a look like he thought Anakin wasn’t that bright. “No money, no _substance,”_ he said, clearly.

But Anakin could see the rows of little, neon-pink vials lined up behind the wretched creature. He knew he just needed one. Just one. So that he could face Obi-Wan when he returned from the Council Meeting without shaming himself. And without throwing himself at the other man once more.

If he could just have one, he could take the edge off, that restless, nameless energy that floated just under his skin.

With a growl, he ignited his lightsaber, brandishing it at the Rodian. “Give me one of those now! Right now!” And the walls began to crumble to dust around him.

He made it maybe three levels up before he stumbled into a seedy-looking bar. It was barely noon, and the place was mostly deserted; loud, discordant music playing as the barman, a Gamorrean, listlessly cleaned the counter with a dirty rag.

Anakin ignored him, ignored his shouts, as he stumbled back into the men’s area, locked himself into a stall and downed the entire bottle of _Desire_ in one go. He fell back against the toilet, the empty vial falling from limp fingers to shatter on the ground, and he gasped in relief, head falling back, as arousal filled him once more. 

Obi-Wan had him bent over the edge of the sink, was fucking into Anakin slowly from behind while his other hand fisted Anakin’s cock. _Look at yourself, Anakin,_ his Master was saying. _Look at how perfect you are._

And Anakin was gone.  

*

He awoke minutes or days later to the soft lighting and soothing atmosphere of the Temple’s infirmary wring and new that he was fucked.

Pain sparked through his muscles as he tried to move. He gritted his teeth and did it anyway, eventually managing to turn his head. He spotted Ahsoka seated in the chair next to his bed. Her skin was pale and she looked tired, but she visibly brightened at seeing him awake.

“How are you feeling, Master?” she asked, scooting to the edge of her chair, her montrals dangling forward. She’d really grown so much these past few months.

Anakin shook his head, tried to work some saliva back into his mouth. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” he croaked. “Is he alright?”

Ahsoka looked taken aback for a brief moment, incredulous. Then she rolled her eyes so hard Anakin thought she’d do herself an injury, and sat back, folding her arms. “He’s fine,” she said, sounding exhausted. Resigned. “Honestly,” she ended, but more in an exasperated addendum to herself than to reassure Anakin.

“What?” he asked, trying to focus on her through the throbbing in his temples. He didn’t need to ask her what had happened, didn’t need to know that the Rodian had been right and he’d been a fool, that Desire was a drug and he’d – like an idiot – kept going back for it until he’d overdosed. 

He’d figured that out all by himself once he’d woken up in the infirmary. Thank you very much.

“The way you two carry on about each other,” Ahsoka said, sounding annoyed and fond all at once; like her Masters were instead her misbehaving children. Obviously he’d failed to teach her any respect for her elders.

Although, given his current predicament, he wasn’t sure he deserved any respect.

Obi-Wan definitely did though.

“Where is he?” he asked, wincing at the look of blatant amusement that speared across Ahsoka’s face, curling first one side, then the other of her mouth, until she was grinning at him. She shook her head.

“You’ve really got it bad,” she assessed.

Anakin felt his face flame. “If you mean a healthy dose of reckless stupidity, well…then you’d be right.” This time he burned with actual shame.

Ahsoka waved a hand airily. “So you almost got yourself, and then Master Obi-Wan and I killed,” she summarized. “We’re used to it.”

Anakin groaned. “Just tell me what happened.”

The grin fell from Ahsoka’s face. For a moment she looked scared, a lost little girl, and Anakin felt the guilt begin to eat at him again. “You overdosed,” she said flatly. “You overdosed on that _stupid_ drug and Master Obi-Wan almost went out of his mind.”

Anakin blanched.

Ahsoka continued, remorselessly. “He felt it, the instant it happened. He was frantic to get to you. Just started running. I could barely keep up with him.”

She was frowning, lost in her memories. “It was Master Vos who found you. Went back to that apartment you two were staying at, tracked you to the Rodian who was selling _Desire_ , tracked you back to the bar.” She swallowed. “Obi-Wan wasn’t sure you would make it.”

She shifted, reached over and grabbed his hand in a steely grip. Luckily it was his metal hand. “We got you to one of the Temple’s outreach stations on Level 109 and managed to stabilize you.” She stared at him fiercely. “Then Master Obi-Wan went back down there. Master Luminara and Master Vos went with him.”

“To do what?” Why in any of the Sith hells would Obi-Wan want to return to that disgusting place?

Ahsoka’s smile was more a barring of teeth, a promise of vengeance. “Knowing Master Obi-Wan? He’s going to hunt down whoever is behind that drug of yours and bring them to justice.” The way she emphasized the word ‘justice’ made it sound like Obi-Wan planned on crushing them utterly beneath his boots. Knowing his Master, Anakin knew it was entirely possible.

“At least he has Luminara and Vos to protect him,” he murmured, already feeling his weakened body tugging him back towards sleep.

Ahsoka’s grimly-amused laughter was the last thing he heard. That and her voice saying, “It’s not Master Obi-Wan that they think needs protection.”

*

It took Anakin an entire month for the drug to finally flush itself from his system. A month staring up at the infirmary ceiling – all cool, airy arches and elegant scrollwork – listening to the sounds of the Room of a Thousand Fountains next door. And contemplating his life choices.

Ahsoka visited him regularly, kept him abreast of her progress under Obi-Wan’s guiding hand. Luminara came whenever she was on planet, telling him the Republic’s progress in the war. Even Vos came by once, slapping Anakin hard on the shoulder and trying to pry out of Anakin what he’d desired enough that even a Jedi’s willpower had been no match to the drug’s pull.

Anakin had glumly stared at his blankets, felt that familiar want pooling low in his belly again as he thought of Obi-Wan hovering above him, eyes dark with desire, and informed Vos in clipped tones that it was a stupid fantasy, nothing more. Something impossible.

His face must have revealed more than he wanted it too though, or else his shields were still shit, because Vos was uncharacteristically sympathetic when he said, “You’ll never know for sure if you don’t go for it, Skywalker.” When Anakin looked up at him, surprised, he added, “Without the drugs in your system this time.”

Anakin’s shock and horror must have been a picture, for Vos started laughing hard, doubling over and slapping his thigh at the expression on Anakin’s face. “Kenobi’s never been any good at keeping secrets from _me_ ,” he said, to Anakin’s growing annoyance. “And that Padawan you seem to share with him has been unusually protective, all-but biting my head off last time I visited him.”

 _Good,_ Anakin thought, and resolved to hug Ahsoka extra hard the next time he saw her. She knew trouble when she saw it, and Vos was nothing but a headache.

“You’re mistaken,” Anakin informed him, as gravely as he was capable of. “It was just the drug messing me up – ,” and at Vos’ blatantly disbelieving look he hurriedly finished, “and besides, Obi-Wan is a Jedi – a Jedi _Master._ He has given his life to the Order. He doesn’t think of me – of _anyone,_ that way.”

Vos snorted. “Jedi Master,” he muttered, under his breath. Then louder, “We’re seekers, not saints, boy,” echoing one of Obi-Wan’s favorite Jedi sayings. “We strive for perfection even though we rarely find it. Obi-Wan’s as good as they come, incorruptible in my experience, but he has his weaknesses, his _desires_ the same as any man."

He leveled an accusing finger in Anakin’s direction like a weapon. “You, boy, are his biggest weakness.” He scrubbed a hand down his weathered, scruffy face. “And I was around during that whole Satine debacle too.”

Anakin sulked. There was no other word for it. Although he’d punch the first person that brought the fact to his attention. “I don’t want to be his _weakness_ ,” he said, bunching the blanket draped over his legs in his fists. He kept his voice because Vokara Che was making her rounds of the patients, and she had been particularly virulent on the subject of Anakin not over-exerting himself.

Vos was amused again, Anakin could hear it in that obnoxious voice of his. “Weakness, greatest loss of control, biggest motivator, the reason he’s less of an uptight arse than he was…why he’s become one of the wisest, and best Jedi I’ve ever known. 

Anakin’s head snapped up again, staring at Quinlan Vos in shock. 

“His words, not mine, kid.” His eyes were dark and intelligent, and for the first time Anakin saw the hard-won wisdom in them, the strength of will that made him worthy of the title of ‘Master.’ He told me that knowing you has been his greatest privilege, that he has become a better man, a better _Jedi_ , for having been your teacher and now your friend.”

Anakin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s impossible,” he said, in a voice that didn’t sound like his at all. 

Vos shrugged. “Kenobi’s a hard man to read sometimes, but you know him better than anyone, I’d say. Don’t know why you wouldn’t be able to see it. That kid of yours sees it plain as day.”

Master Che was frowning at them both, making a beeline. Vos hurriedly stood up from Anakin’s bed, made an ostentatious showing of straightening his robes to show that he wasn’t intimidated by the Order’s most accomplished Healer, and said quickly, “Anyway, just think about what I said.”

“Later, kid,” and he high-tailed it out of there.

Anakin thought about it, but he didn’t think Vos was correct. He thought about it when he was finally released from the infirmary and Obi-Wan was there to walk him back to his Chambers. His master was warm and teasing, but as distant as always.

He thought about it when he was finally cleared for duty and he took his place behind a Jedi starfighter once more, flying in tandem with Obi-Wan once more as they tore apart Separatist battledroids and listened to Ahsoka’s snarky commentary from where she commanded the battle from the bridge of the _Resolute_. 

She was almost ready for her Jedi Trials.

He thought about it as he and Obi-Wan Force-melded together on the battlefield in every planet of the Outer Rim where they were sent. They fought as one, their thoughts and emotions overlapping as they finished each other’s moves, guarded each other’s backs and carved a deadly swathe through the enemy’s lines.

He thought about it and felt that familiar desire and want for the other man roll through him at unexpected intervals. He would take himself in hand sometimes, in the dead of night, in the relative privacy of the ‘fresher, work himself slowly and then not so slowly, muffling his cries in the crook of his elbow.

But it was never the same. He rarely brought himself off and when he did, he was left with this hollow feeling under his breastbone.

That buzzing feeling under his skin, the one that made him feel unsettled, antsy, grew. One day he found himself staring at Obi-Wan’s lips, the curve of his cheek, the way he smiled at one of the men, at a briefing instead of listening to their plan of attack.

The next he found himself admiring the graceful way Obi-Wan moved in battle instead of maintaining awareness of his own surroundings. He earned a blaster in the side for that.

He could never sit still, his jokes towards Obi-Wan turning sharper than intended, a tension he could not define, not control seeming to fill him at all times.

Even Ahsoka began to avoid him, and he heard Rex warning the 501st to give him some breathing room.

Obi-Wan’s blue-grey gaze, in contrast, was fixed on him more than ever, analyzing, assessing, weighing. Anakin hated it.

“Anakin!” his Master snapped over the comm. They were over Malastare, the homeworld of the dugs being overrun by the Separatists. Chancellor Palpatine had been killed last week by one of the feared and famed Zillo beasts from this world. He’d taken it to Coruscant over Master Windu’s strident objections, the beast and broken out of captivity and rampaged through the theatre and government districts, before making a beeline for Palpatine himself.

Aayla Secura and Master Yoda had tried to intervene, but they weren’t in time and Palpatine had been eaten by the thing.

The Senate had called for it to be executed but Master Windu and the Jedi wouln’t hear of it. Even Anakin could see that the beast was not to blame. They’re released it back on Malastare – to the consternation of the dugs – and the Separatists had, for some unknown reason, taken this as an excuse to invade the Republic-loyal world.

Now here they were. And Anakin was out of position once more.

Obi-Wan’s shields were shot to shreds, his R4 going up in smoke, before Anakin managed to vape his pursuers. His Master’s anger was a bright flame across their bond. “Where is your head, Anakin?” he shouted, angry enough that he forgot they were over an open comm.

Anakin knew he deserved it, deserve much more. Fuck, he was a mess. “Sorry, Master,” he said, subdued, riddled with self-loathing.

Obi-Wan was silent for a long, long moment but at last he sighed, weary, annoyed, resigned. “We’ll talk about this later. Just – stay with me, Anakin.”

That nervous tension buzzed beneath Anakin’s skin worse than ever. He wanted to climb out of it, relieve it somehow, but he’d never found a way. And it was only getting worse. Battle and fighting were good, but now even that was not enough. Hadn’t been enough since that fucking drug.

He felt like he was moving through a haze but managed to hold himself together through the rest of the battle. Showered, changed, waited for Obi-Wan to comm him. He took a shuttle over to _The Negotiator_ , Snips coming along for the ride, claiming she wanted to catch up with Cody.

He wrapped his knuckles on Obi-Wan’s office door, waiting for that sophisticated voice of his to say, “Come in, Anakin,” before doing so, and realized his palms were sweating.

Fuck. This wasn’t going to go well.

Obi-Wan glanced up from behind the desk he’d managed to squeeze into this small space. His space was meticulously organized as always, his Master punctually filing his reports in a way that had Anakin envious and mildly annoyed all at once.

Those blue-grey eyes were bright, sharp, assessing and Anakin swallowed through suddenly numb lips.

“Come in and close the door, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. The sound of it locking was loud in the small space.

Anakin pressed his back to the door, palms flat along it’s cool surface as he tried to keep as much space between him and his Master as possible.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, fingers steepled together as he ran his eyes from Anakin’s face down the entire length of his body. Cursing internally, feeling like the air was being sucked out of the room, Anakin felt himself stir, twitch with interest.

“I would ask if you were alright, Anakin, but we both know you’d only lie to me,” Obi-Wan said. He appeared to make up his mind about something. He pushed back his chair, angled it away from the desk.

“Come here, Anakin,” he said. Commanded.

Anakin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. All he could manage after a moment was a strangled, “What?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were firm and unyielding on his. “Come here,” he said again. “Now, please.”

Anakin moved, unable to help himself, pushing himself off the door, walking to Obi-Wan, dropping down onto his knees before the other man. He realized he was hard, fully hard, straining against the seam of his pants.

Obi-Wan looked down at him, lips slightly parted, his hair falling over his eyes. “Look at you,” he murmured, “wanting it so bad.”

Anakin rested his head against Obi-Wan’s knee, felt his master’s hand thread through his hair, wanted to touch himself but knew, just _knew_ , Obi-Wan didn’t want that. Not yet.

“I want you to stand up and undress for me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said at last, soft, unyielding.

Anakin never knew how he managed to do it. All he knew was that one moment he was kneeling before Obi-Wan and later, later, he was naked, his flushed cock jutting out proudly from his sparse pubic hair, feeling a blush rise in his face, his chest, at Obi-Wan’s open perusal. His legs were shaking so badly that he had trouble climbing into Obi-Wan’s lap, couldn’t stop the rock of his hips, his cock leaving a thin stream of cum against Obi-Wan’s pristine tunic, as Obi-Wan slipped fingers inside him – coated with oil, one, two, three – and opened him up.

It was more intense than anything from his dreams, from the drug. Longer, the build-up more perfect, as Obi-Wan touched him everywhere, stroked him, crooned praise against this skin as he finally, finally, made Anakin lift up.

He moved aside his tabard, shifted his hips as he pulled his trousers down and freed his cock. In all his fantasies, Anakin had never really examined it. Now he saw it, hard, leaking, as Obi-Wan gripped it tightly and moved Anakin into position. Anakin sank down onto it, moaning at how full he felt.

He could see the moment Obi-Wan began to lose control.

“Hands on the desk while I fuck you, Anakin,” he said, breathless, pupils all black as he stared up at Anakin with a reverence that took the other Jedi’s breath away.

And he did. They moved together, perfectly in sync as always, slow, and then not so slow, until Obi-Wan was pounding into him, the desk rocking, Anakin babbling nonsense and his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck as his Master buried his face, his beard into Anakin’s neck.

 _Let go, Anakin,_ Obi-Wan whispered through their bond and Anakin had no idea if it was a memory, a hallucination or his master as real as Anakin’s dreams.

He fell over the edge, Obi-Wan falling with him, everything magnified by their bond, by the Force, until it became too much, and Anakin let go entirely.

Later, later, after Anakin found himself safe in Obi-Wan’s arms, after he’d teased Obi-Wan mercilessly for hiding that under all his Jedi austerity, after they’d taken a shower together and Obi-Wan had sucked him off in the shower until he was boneless and mellow, Obi-Wan said, amused.

“This is going to become a thing, isn’t it,” as Anakin hesitantly brushed their mouths together.

Obi-Wan instantly kissed him back, pressing closer, closer, finally close enough.

Anakin smiled. “Yes,” he said.

 

The End

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it. Ten thousand words of pure smut. I’d say there was a bit of a plot, but that’s stretching it. At least Palpatine got his just reward, right? Every time I watch that episode in The Clone Wars, I’m always routng for the zillo beast. If Anakin hadn’t been there, I’m convinced Palpatine would have been eaten. End of problem. The beginning is also a mirror of the Draco/Harry story I mentioned before, but then Anakin got his own ideas, and Obi-Wan of course, knew exactly what to do when he did, so the ending is their own.
> 
> As always, let me know what you liked and didn’t like. Thanks so much for reading!


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